


Stolen Car

by in_chains_and_flesh_and_leather



Category: Logan Lucky (2017)
Genre: A real mean bitch, Angry Sex, Angst, Death, F/M, Injury, NSFW, Not cute haha dick, RC is an asshole at the start, Rough Sex, again i am not kidding, but then she gets better over time, hurt and very little comfort at the start, no I mean it, she is mean
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-15 09:35:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29806437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/in_chains_and_flesh_and_leather/pseuds/in_chains_and_flesh_and_leather
Summary: Due to an injury, you get stuck in West Virginia with Moody Chapman, your father’s associate. Because you need to be driven around in this new unfamiliar place, Clyde Logan gets hired to be your chauffeur. However, he is dealing with a lot of his own emotions and trauma, so a relationship between a bratty rich kid accustomed to getting what she wants and an embittered young man is not the smoothest in the world. Still, there is something there that neither of you can deny.
Relationships: Clyde Logan/Original Female Character(s), Clyde Logan/Reader, Clyde Logan/You
Comments: 8
Kudos: 6





	1. Chapter 1

“Hey, daddy-o.” – you picked up your phone as casually as you could, even though every movement caused pain.

“What happened now?” – he asked exasperatedly. – “Are you alright?” – he remembered to add.

“I broke my leg, what do you think?” – you snapped.

“Hardly, your doctor told me it’s a dislocated patella.” – he was not having your tall tales.

“Whatever.” – you huffed, slumping into your pillow, feeling the painkiller taking effect.

“No, not whatever; you’re gonna listen and take their advice on how to recover as fast and as easily as possible.” – he had a knack for saying caring things in quite an admonishing way.

“Mh.”

“And don’t roll your eyes at me.”

“I wasn’t!” – you lied, not convincing anyone.

“Yes, you were. Where’s Tad?” – he changed the topic, not wanting to let you milk your well-deserved injury too much.

“Probably halfway to Vermont now, the chode.”

“That’s what you get following around a snowboarder kid.”

“He’s not a kid and he’s a serious athlete.” – you snapped back out of habit, but why were you even defending him? He practically left you in pieces in the snow. The chode.

“What he’s not is there with you. And also not husband material, but…” – he couldn’t resist adding, making you snort. - “I know that hardly concerns you, but still.”

“So anyway, I guess I’ll fly back when they patch me up.” – you sighed, resigned to your father’s occasional company while you recovered.

“Actually, no.”

“No?”

“No. I’m sending over an associate of ours to come pick you up.”

“Really? What for?” – you sat back up, not liking this tone. Whenever he sprang surprises on you like that, it was always something awful and boring, like college or community work.

“We just acquired their business and it’s a good place…”

“No.” – you cut in, trying to refuse flatly.

“…to start learning the ropes…”

“No!” – you repeated more forcefully, knowing you were losing as soon as you raised your voice.

“…and one day take over the business. Or run your own subsidiary.”

“I don’t give tw—I know nothing about cars!”

“That’s my point, you’re gonna learn. You’re gonna be on your ass for weeks, I’ll never get an opportunity like this again.”

“Why don’t we hold off on this for a while, wait and see if I date a skydiver? The recovery from that might take months!” – you tried your cheeky negotiating style, but you could hear in his silence he was just letting you run your mouth before he continued.

“He’ll take you to his home in Boone County and you’ll start working with our associates within the week.”

“But…”

“Not another word out of you!” – you father snapped in a way he very rarely did, making you flinch and shrink into your pillow. – “You should be ashamed. You’re an adult with no prospects or marketable skills and your child bride boyfriend took you to a mountain, broke your leg and left you there, so your father needed to send rescue. I’m sick and tired of this and you’re gonna start growing up right this instant because I’m not doing this again.”

*

“Why don’t you do it if it’s so good?” – Clyde asked, eyes on the bribe in the form of mouthwatering burnt bacon, ears starting to burn even as the words came out of his mouth.

He’s been home over a year, recovering – and he’d recovered physically about as much as he was ever going to a while back – but work just never seemed to pan out. They’d either dick him around for a while and not employ him on account of his arm, or they’d replace him as soon as they could manage. In addition to feeling miserable, he had been feeling useless and like a very serious drain on his siblings’ resources. He’d consider sweeping hair in Mellie’s salon, but he couldn’t even fucking do that right with his stupid looking fucking plastic hand.

“Cuz I already got a job.” – Jimmy spat back, not meaning that he had a job in contrast to Clyde who didn’t, but it didn’t stop Clyde from taking it that way.

Besides, Moody was kind of a dick.

Not outright and not the worst person in existence, but boastful and highfalutin and just crass, the kind of person Clyde would rather not associate with. His crude, low level of humor virtually guaranteed comments about his service, his arm, his current living arrangements, just about everything that was going wrong in Clyde’s life.

But Clyde did have to admit that chauffeuring some business associate of his around for a while was one of the relatively rare kinds of jobs that he could still do.

Most of all, it felt lazy and disrespectful to say no when Jimmy took every job he could and worked tirelessly and Mellie was on her feet all day while he was just sulking at the trailer, feeling his life go to waste.

“Fine, I’ll go talk to him, we’ll see if he’ll want me.”

“And make an effort to smile. Look him in the eyes. Act like ya wanna be there, not like yer stoopin’ and doin’ ‘im a favor.” – Jimmy warned with a finger pointed at Clyde’s face and how he wanted to grab and twist it, make him submit.

“I know!” – he fired back. He was unemployed, not stupid.

“Good. Then remember it.” – Jimmy couldn’t let him have the last word, knowing he was pushing on his buttons.

“I ain’t the one always messin’ with people, causin’ trouble…” – Clyde pointed out, sure that he could enumerate Jimmy’s misbehaviors till he was blue in the face.

Jimmy was having none of it today. - “Yer just as bad as me, yer jus’ quieter and ain’t nobody ever sees ya comin’.”

*

You’d been at Casa Chapman for a few days. You had to take it easy, so the boys were watched by a babysitter, a woman came by to cook and clean, and everyone was still grumbling about his recent separation from his wife. So it wasn’t what you’d call oodles of fun.

The kids were cool, rowdy and silly and on their way to being spoiled, but hey, you were spoiled as a child, it never hurt you. Come to think of it, you were in the middle of nowhere, sans a leg, surrounded by someone else’s kids and coerced into your first real job. So maybe it wasn’t the best thing either. Meh. Who cares. They weren’t your kids.

Moody was busy finalizing his divorce and managing a suddenly expanding workload, so he couldn’t take you to meetings around town or to physiotherapy, so he told you he’d get a chauffeur to be at your disposal. You got ready for your first session with your physical therapist and brought a change of clothes for the meeting you had after.

Moody brought out your bag and put it in the trunk while your driver came out and opened the door for you. A young man, tall and well-built, waited, looking straight ahead like those ridiculous boys in army movies. Moody had a uniform lying around, so he had on the dressy pants and jacket and tie, complete with the little hat, only his own dress shoes sticking out as old. You’d expected just a guy, dressed…like a guy, but this was likely another way for Moody to show off a bit and try to impress. He definitely enjoyed doing that, thinking he was coming across like a real prince.

“What, no gloves?” – you asked, eyeing the young man up and down, waiting until Moody came closer. Your eyes landed on the hand holding the door open and froze, widening, when they flitted over to the other, yellowish and uncanny, solid and unmoving, stomach dropping.

“Didn’t wanna overdo it.” – Moody grinned, looking between the two of you. – “So he’ll be takin’ you wherever you gotta go till you feel better.” – he explained, looking at Clyde expectantly.

“Clyde Logan , ma’am.” – the man responded, only glancing at you to say his name, then continuing to look straight ahead like you didn’t exist.

“Please. Ma’am is my mom’s name.” – you teased and Moody laughed way too hard, your introduction barely audible over the sound. – “Clyde, huh? Well, if that ain’t the most country name I ever heard.” – you gave it your best country accent and it didn’t sound too convincing, and topped it off with a chef’s kiss. – “Beautiful. Did you specifically look for that in a chauffeur?” – you asked of Moody, bending over and trying to negotiate your crutches and splint as you climbed into the backseat. - “For the authentic ambiance?”

He wasn’t paying close attention, eyes shamelessly glued to your posterior. He winked at Clyde, nodding at it in invitation to feast his eyes as well. – “Nothin’ but the best for my lady.” – he grinned at a stoic looking Clyde, who shut the door when you were inside.

You seemed like a… well, you _didn’t not_ seem like a bit of a bitch to Clyde, let’s put it that way. But damn it if you weren’t attractive and captivating even as you made fun of him. Bitterly he thought about spending long days with you and what other epithets you had in store. He’d never put you in Moody’s league, but that’s what people like him get regardless of what’s logical and fair. Women like you, with breeding and confidence and charm. And people like Clyde get to drive women like you around, and, in your eyes, they should no doubt consider it a privilege.

*

The ride to the clinic was silent and while he was waiting, Clyde’s mood only sank further. He couldn’t see himself doing this for any amount of time. He just sat there, feeling you look at him, size him up, probably concoct more demeaning things to say. He couldn’t stand the idea of Moody and you laughing behind his back. Fuck it, he didn’t need a job that badly. Worst of all was the thought that this might continue forever, that he may not find a job where he didn’t stick out and feel small and like half a man.

“Isn’t a part of your job to make small talk?” – you asked in a bored tone, sitting back there in your fresh new meeting outfit.

“Not t’be rude, ma’am, but I don’t think it is.” – Clyde fought to keep a petulant pout from forming on his face.

“Well, would you mind? For me?” – you asked in a pleading tone, batting your lashes exaggeratedly. – “I’m gonna hear about…fucking carburetors or whatever the fuck these clowns discuss at meetings, I could use some actual human interaction.”

Your dismissive tone did not inspire Clyde to conversation much, but he thought he’ll stick it out. He just needed to drop you off, come pick you up and then take you home. Then he could tell Moody you’re a disrespectful bitch and he could stick this job where the Sun don’t shine. – “Ya got hurt over on Snowshoe?” – he asked the only question he could think of that wasn’t _y’always been this unlikable_?

“Yeah, how did you know?” – you titled your head and caught his eyes briefly in the rearview; the nicer tone caught his attention for just a second.

“It’s, uh…” – he lost his train of thought for a second, about what an entitled brat he was tasked with putting up with, when that gentler tone felt like a caress. – “…the nicest place for skiin’. Is what folks say.” – he added, not wanting you to ask him if he’s been, cuz obviously he hasn’t.

You did mean to ask just that, but he looked flustered as he added his last comment and a kind of sadness washed over you that people who lived in this state couldn’t necessarily enjoy its best parts while you only deigned to come by because fucking Tad wanted to snowboard in every state. What a chode.

“I’ll tell you about mine if you tell me about yours.” – you teased, pointing with your chin at his fake arm, laying against the wheel uselessly.

Clyde shook his head no, half in response to your proposition, half in disappointment that you would bring up the thing he was most sensitive about just like that. Why doesn’t he tell you how he watched his ma die too while he’s at it? Just rip his heart out good and clean and lay it at your feet to stomp on?

You didn’t take his no seriously, so you launched into your embittered tale. – “If I can offer you some well-meaning advice…” – you smiled sardonically. – “The next time you’re out with your snowboarder boyfriend, who’s a showy asshole with no regard for your skill level, don’t try to impress him by doing tricks. He’s just gonna dump you and move on to competitions, while you’re stuck in West Virginia, with a dour driver who hates your guts.”

Clyde was not amused and he didn’t need to hear about your stupid fucking boyfriend, how he had a cool job and hot girlfriends and was having the time of his life while he was over here, choking on his rage and discontentment.

“Come on, your turn, sourpuss.” – you nudged his seat with your good leg, wincing as the movement made pain shoot through the other.

“Don’t hurt yerself.” – he said flatly, like he couldn’t give a shit if you did.

“I told you mine, now you gotta…”

“I didn’t ask t’hear yers.” – he pointed out, tone stern despite his low volume.

“Okay, then I’ll guess. And you stop me when I get it right.” – you told him and he didn’t acknowledge you in any way. – “It was a Yeti attack? You were out, setting bear traps or something, and the Abominable Snowman got your arm? No?” – you raised an eyebrow and he gave no reaction. – “You went to a hostel in Eastern Europe and sadistic millionaires paid good money to kill you and your friends, only you turned the tables and made it out? No?” – you met his shining, angry eyes in the mirror, and you could barely keep from laughing as the next idea formed in your head. – “Oh, I got it. You put your hand in a vending machine and didn’t realize you need to let of the thing to pull out your arm and then they had to…”

“I was coming off my second tour in Iraq.” – Clyde started low as you finished your joke, quiet words laced with bitterness and poison spilled from his lips and he didn’t even seem to be breathing, just an endless barrage of awful facts coming out. Some things he never even told his superiors, or Jimmy, too ugly to repeat, but he wanted to shock you and thoroughly disgust with the things he’d seen and that happened around him. He just kept going, about the day they were supposed to go home, his friends who were fathers, meant to meet their children for the first time, or boys even younger than him, eager to get back home and never return to the hell they were leaving. Many of them didn’t make it. He described the pain with harrowing acuity, the splattered blood and dirt and bent metal, the smell of singed hair and burning skin. The screams and the shock. His recovery, the blood and ooze and colors and textures, things he couldn’t do anymore – how his brother tied his shoes that morning, how his sister cuts his nails. How he forgets the hand is not there anymore, knocking shit over. How it still hurts sometimes, out of nowhere.

You sat and listened, stomach dropping and nausea filling the whole inside you, a lump forming in your throat. When he himself got too worked up and torn up by saying these things, Clyde simmered down and silence filled the space between you.

For Clyde, talking about it was like living it all over again and you could see he was still just as agitated when he was silent as when he was talking. – “Was that so hard?” – you asked rhetorically, trying to make it darkly funny, but a strained huff came out of you with the words, revealing your own deep discomfort.

Clyde snorted, caught by surprise that you would say something ridiculous like that and confused that he actually found it funny in that absurd way for just a moment, before his anger came back, stronger than ever and he lost himself in his thoughts, driving absently. Yes, it was. It hurt him to his core to say.

He pulled up in front of the building where your meeting was and came out to open your door. – “So you’re off till three, I need you to pick me up then and take me home.” – you told him before you completely inelegantly dragged and pushed your way out of the car, providing Clyde with some small measure of comfort, knowing he wasn't the only person suffering in this moment.

*

You were too proud to apologize and he was too furious to accept anyway, so you again rode in silence after your boring meeting.

“Had fun?” – Moody asked from the door, watching you hobble out and Clyde get your bag.

“Nothing but.” – you said in a flat voice, wondering if he was perceptive enough to notice the obvious sarcasm and tension between you and Clyde.

“Awesome. The boys are havin’ a nap, we can have some fun.” – Moody totally missed or ignored the tone, winking at Clyde when he put your bag down to emphasize his insinuation.

“I dunno if I can take much more fun today.” – you offered a tight lipped smile when you reached the top of the stairs. Moody moved out of the way so you could hobble in and went to shake Clyde’s hand, a tip folded in his own.

“Hey, thanks for today, man.” – he smiled crookedly.

Clyde felt like he was punched in the gut. The bill started to unfold in his hand when Moody retreated his and he shook his head at it. – “Ya don’t need t’…” – he started, wanting to throw the fucking money down and punch him, but he was just too humiliated and paralyzed to do it.

“Nah, man, today was a long one. It won’t always be like this. Ya earned it.” – Moody’s smile spread to the other side of his face too as he clapped Clyde on the shoulder and said goodbye.

Any reaction would only make him feel smaller and less significant – he’d already been ridiculed and thoroughly humiliated today, at least he could save a shred of dignity and not add an emotional outburst to the list. He went down the stairs and back into the car to drop it off at Moody’s lot before heading home, contemplating whether he should rip up that tip he received or just throw it out the window, but he decided against it. Better it stay and fuel his hate.

*

The next day, Clyde knew he needn’t come back.

Surely by now you told Moody the story of that crazy crippled vet going off on you and telling you horrific things. He was half surprised Moody didn’t send the cops to his door.

He explained everything to Jimmy and although he tried to placate him somewhat, he couldn’t ask him to go back.

He had a day off, so he thought he’d just sit around with Clyde, crack open a few beers and watch some TV until his phone rang.

“Hello?” – he answered genuinely confused, seeing it was an unknown number.

“Hi, is this Clyde Logan?” – you asked, not recognizing the voice as his.

“No, ma’am, this is his brother.” – he replied and Clyde perked up, narrowing his eyes at him.

“Oh. Um, sorry, it’s the only number I have for him. See, he’s supposed to take me to an appointment and it seems he’s kind of late. Is everything okay?” – you explained and asked with some guilt and dread, suspecting Clyde didn’t show up on purpose after the disastrous day you had before.

“Oh, er… He’s on his way.” – Jimmy got a gut feeling and decided to listen to it.

Clyde tilted his head like a confused dog and when he realized Jimmy was about to send him back, started protesting, shaking his head, motioning an X with his arms, refusing in every way he knew how.

“Oh, good. Thank you so much!” – you sounded relived and very polite to Jimmy, a sharp contrast from the evil witch Clyde had described.

“No worries, ma’am, thank you!”

“ _Thank you?!”_ – Clyde echoed, but Jimmy had hung up before you could hear. – “After everythin’ I told ya, ya thank ‘er?”

“She sounded real nice and she needs ya help. Dincha say she could barely walk?”

“It’s ‘er own damn fault.” – Clyde spat back.

“Whosever fault it is, it’s yer job and she mighta seen reason. Why doncha take her where she needs t’go today and then if it’s the same, quit in a blaze o’glory and give ‘em both what for?” – Jimmy suggested and Clyde’s strong sense of responsibility, even if he hated it, the duty the military taught him, wrestled with his wounded pride and feelings. – “While yer thikin’, why doncha get dressed and get goin’? She’s waitin’. Ya can decide on the way.”

“Shut up.” – Clyde threw a cushion at his smartass brother and scrambled around for some presentable clothing.

*

He was beyond late, tearing down the road and skidding to a stop at the bottom of the stairs, you already waiting there, bag by your legs and a package on top.

He came out to open the door, courtesy dictating he apologize, but his tongue refusing to cooperate.

“Hello to you too.” – you said coolly, barely keeping a smirk off your face.

“I’m…sorry fer bein’ late.” – he finally managed to squeeze out. – “I frankly wasn’t expectin’ t’return after yesterday.” – he added, tone void of regret, like it was a nuisance that he had to be here.

“We both probably said and did some things we wouldn’t necessarily repeat; I know I did.” – you offered an olive branch. – “I couldn’t get you to even look at me until I pissed you off. Yes or yes?” – but you couldn’t resist picking and prodding at him, all his buttons were just right there. - “So I won’t be doing that again.” – you said and Clyde didn’t look convinced. – “Okay, I’ll probably do something in the ballpark, I can’t be someone else all of a sudden. But I do have a peace offering and I hope you accept my apology.” – you said, giving him the package on your lap.

“It’s not necessary…” – he stepped away, like you were offering him a bomb to dismantle.

“Nobody but you will really have any use for it, so I do hope you accept.” – you informed him, accepting that he wouldn’t just take it now and leaving it on the seat next to you. – “Now get in, sourpuss, and step on it, I’m late as shit.” – you ordered and Clyde bit down on a small smile as he closed the door and strode over to his seat. You really were something else.

*

While you were at the clinic, doing your exercises, he stepped out, walking in circles, thinking about what a terrible idea it would be to let himself get sucked back into this job. Minutes passed and he kept looking at the package sitting in the backseat, wondering why you would bother getting him anything and what on earth it could be that only he could have use for. He talked himself out of opening it several times, too proud to let you see he was curious. He grabbed the handle where it sat and grumbled at himself, walking away. He stood by the opposite window, looking at it like he was hypnotized. Maybe he could somehow move the paper around and just peek inside, but not tear it open. He took it in his hand, shook it, inspecting the weight. It was neither very light nor very heavy, and something shuffled and ratted inside. Finally, in a tizzy and literal sweats, he decided to just fucking go for it. At the very worst, it could be something awful and insulting and he could tell you to go to hell with his conscience clear.

He tore the paper open with no regard for making it look like he hadn’t touched it and inside he found brand new dress shoes with no tie laces. With a frog in his throat and his heart shivering in his chest, he took one out to look at it more closely. If anybody else had gifted him those, he would have cried and held and kissed them, for their kindness and thoughtfulness and generosity. To you, sour one moment, sweet the next, like nobody he had ever known, he had no idea what to say.

*


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CW: NSFW, rough sex, RC is a jerk, Clyde is angry and mean, but I promise I’m going somewhere with this

*

By the time you were out of the clinic, the package was moved to the trunk and not discussed further.

You were glad he accepted it, but he wore a strange look, sort of unnerved and uneasy.

“You’re not in your uniform.” – you noted, deciding to prod at him a little and wipe that look off his face.

“No…” – he sighed. – “Sorry.” – he added perfunctorily, annoyed that he was forced to apologize, powerless in this situation.

“It’s fine, I don’t care. I’m just deciding if you look handsomer in it or out of it.” – you chewed at your cheek and Clyde huffed. He knew you were just trying to get a rise out of him, but it was working infuriatingly well.

It surprised you too a little to hear yourself say it, but yeah, he did look handsome. He probably looked best in between taking one off and putting the other on, you thought and bit down a smirk.

His glance turned into a glare in the rearview mirror, reckoning you were laughing at some private joke at his expense. You caught it and held it, liking the intense eyes peering through his dark eyebrows.

“What are you looking at?” – you raised an eyebrow.

He released your eyes and fixed them ahead, teeth gnashing. – “The road.”

“Good.” – you retorted, eager to have the last word, stomach filling with butterflies all of a sudden. Something told you he would still gladly wring your neck and a part of you welcomed his fingers there.

*

When you arrived home, Clyde opened the door for you, ignoring the gentlemanly voice in his head that said to help you out. You were an odd thing, capricious and mean, playing with him like a cat with a toy, and just because you looked momentarily vulnerable, it didn’t mean you wouldn’t snap off his fingers if he reached out. And he had few enough remaining to risk it.

He closed the door behind you, hesitating, not knowing how to phrase his question.

You noticed the momentary falter and looked him up and down. Fidgety bow legs, strong core and flat stomach, long muscular arms, broad shoulders, and yet he looked like a sullen child made to eat his vegetables. God, he could not be more delicious served with an apple in his mouth.

“It’s been a real slice, Clyde. I was awake practically the whole time.” – you grinned, seeing him decide to give up and just spit out what he was thinking.

“Since ya brought it up, ya want me t’wear the uniform tomorrow?” – he asked, frowning unabashedly.

“Honey, wear whatever you decide makes you look prettiest.” – you reached out a hand and tickled at his belly, making him jerk away like he’d been stabbed. Huh, flirting. That’s what made him jumpiest. Teasing made him too angry to engage back, but flirting got him just flustered enough to stay on the hook. Easy enough. – “I just wanna feel tingly when I see you pull up.” – you continued, reaching for a spot on his side, but he caught your hand, easily eclipsing it with his paw.

“I don’t think Mr. Chapman would like hearin’ that.” – he tone warned, but his eyes were hooded and darting to all the wrong places to support his words.

“It’s Moody, first off.” – you reminded, not liking this formality. Sure, he worked for him, but he wasn’t a vassal. You lowered your eyes gradually, calling his attention to his hand, still tight around yours, and he remember to release it, flexing his at his side. – “And what’s he got to do with me?”

Clyde turned his eye roll into a side glance. – “Everythin’.” – he said and turned around, walking around to his door as you stood and watched him drive off.

Did he…think you and Moody were together?

*

The next morning, Clyde went bright and early to get the car, not wanting to be late. He had decided to be cool and collected, he just had to stick this out for a few weeks, till your leg healed. The money was good and he had handled worse things than some bratty rich girl that thought he was some country bumpkin she could fuck with. Soon you’d be gone, forget all about him, and he’d be damned if he didn’t do the same.

But then the guy at the lot had to open his damn mouth. It was good that Clyde came early and dressed up, he said, Moody was told that he didn’t show up at the right time yesterday and wanted to know why. Then you called, said it was because you sent Clyde on errand run and that you would, and he quoted, fuck him up if he tattled again. He just asked not to be put in the middle between Moody and you, he didn’t want to jeopardize his job.

Clyde assured the man he had nothing to worry about, it was just a misunderstanding, anger boiling in him again instantly, despite promising himself mere minutes ago he wouldn’t let it happen. Did you two even know the fear you struck in this guy over nothing? His life would be mayhem if he lost job and didn’t have an income even for a month. But to Moody he was someone to lash out at and to you, he was another bumpkin to fuck with. And why the hell were you protecting him? Was it…just to mess with him some more? Yeah, that had to be it. Clyde didn’t dare entertain any other option.

You noticed, and kept to yourself, that Clyde was in his uniform today and wearing the new shoes.

He considered not wearing them, since it had been raining, but then he did, on purpose, out of spite. He wouldn’t let your gift soften or blind him. They were nothing special, just shoes, and if they got wet or if they got fucked up, fine, who cares.

He sat in the car, rain drumming against the roof and hood, in time with his furious heart drumming in his head. It was really getting to him to be spending time with someone who could just breeze through life like you. Have her daddy take care of her if anything goes wrong; have her man hire five people to cater to her every need; insult him, buy him with a gift; make his blood boil, just laugh it off.

Everything had been hard for Clyde, almost every moment he could remember. And that was life, he had accepted that, or he thought he did. Losing his hand was the last decisive blow. As if things hadn’t been bad enough before, now he was one of the unlucky Logans, couldn’t even get himself killed right, relying on his siblings to care for him as he recovered. So he had to decide what kind of man he was. The kind that descends into depression, addiction and fury, or someone who pulls himself up by the bootstraps. So here he was, pulling as well as he knew how.

Nobody had it easy and he didn’t enjoy talking about just how miserable he felt all too often. But did he have to run into you? Did you have to remind him of everything that he wasn’t? Everything he didn’t have? Everything he could only fantasize about?

 _Just a few weeks_ , he reminded himself. _You’ve been through worse_ , he assured himself. _Don’t let her win_ , he urged bitterly.

He saw you come out, trying to make your way carefully down the now slippery steps, puffing out an annoyed breath when you saw the big puddle that had formed while you were inside.

Clyde gladly would have watched you struggle, just to satisfy his own anger and hurt pride, but then he realized you could easily slip and fall. You didn’t look very steady on the crutches, nor patient enough to get the hang of it, and what If you hurt yourself worse? He also tried to shake the memories out of his head of people gawking or snickering as he struggled with his arm, feeling an uncomfortable prick through the heart. What kind of piece of shit was he for delighting in another person’s struggle when they were injured?

With an annoyed grunt, he exited the car and jogged over, splashing carelessly as he crossed the puddle to stand on the last step. – “Lemme help you.” – he said flatly, not waiting for you to accept.

He bent at the knees, flesh arm coiling around your waist, and hoisted you off the stairs, laying you across his chest and strode back through the water before setting you back down, slowly, on the ground.

He felt like heaven, you couldn’t not take notice. Solid and strong, he didn’t even wince as he carried you. The only thing that bothered you was that he looked so miserable all the time, pointedly looking away from you. Why you grabbed his collar so tight as he set you down, you couldn’t say. More than anything, you wanted a look, a reaction. There was something about him that was quickly driving you mad.

Clyde’s eyebrows shot up as he looked down at your fists on his collar and then tentatively at you, questioning. Were you angry that he had the audacity to just touch you like this out of nowhere?

“You can’t go, I didn’t even say thank you.” – you said in your playful tone, which you could tell flustered Clyde. Whether from anger or arousal, but he was hot under the collar.

He gulped, throat too dry to speak. - “Ya did now, yer welcome.” – he tried gently stepping away, but your hold tightened.

“What if I’m still grateful?” – you tilted your head, inspecting his face and neck from a different angle.

“Be grateful on the inside.” – he muttered without meaning to say that out loud. – “Yer tuggin’ on my shirt.” – he quickly pointed out, hoping you didn’t get a chance to get miffed at his comment; he really wasn’t mentally prepared to trade verbal blows with you. He should have just stayed in the damn car.

“It seems I am.” – you confirmed, tilting your chin up at him, so close you could feel the heat of each other’s skin.

“Can I have it back?” – Clyde finally looked back, dead in your eyes, trying to look fierce and utterly unamused.

“Fine, whatever.” – you released him, theatrically splaying your fingers open. - “Have your shirt, tug on it later yourself.” – you shot back over your shoulder, Clyde’s ears reddening as he followed and blew past you on his way to the car.

*

You asked a little about him, based on what Moody had mentioned. He reluctantly returned the courtesy and asked about you, so you told him where you were from, your dad’s business, how you’re being thrust into it. He made no comment either way.

*

Clyde parked and came over to open your door, waiting till you hobbled out.

“Thank you for helping me.” – you said, this time sincerely, not wanting to tease him.

He was a little taken aback, not expecting that tone and the altogether too human look you were giving him. - “It was…no…bother.” – he stumbled over his words, not sure what he was even trying to say.

“Good, then I hope it rains again tomorrow.” – you continued in the same sincere tone, but eyes devilish, running over his chest and arms.

Whether it was the confusion, or the strangeness of the situation – he had never been thrown for a loop with another person like this before – but Clyde found a smile trying to fight its way onto his face, biting at his lips desperately, looking to and fro.

“Is that a smile?” – you asked, surprised and happy, taking his arm to turn him around; Clyde all the while trying to hide his face like a child. – “Let me see. I’ve been trying to make you laugh for days.” – you took his face in your hands when all else failed, angling him to face you. Clyde was definitely smiling now, but still looking away, trying to avoid you.

Had you been trying? You sure had a strange way of going about it. Clyde finally looked at your face and his heart skipped a beat, and another. You were looking at him so warmly, holding him so close, and he swore he felt that electricity surge between you two, the dangerous kind, that keeps you up at night and makes you want things you shouldn’t. – “Well, there ya go.” – he said just to stop the thoughts.

“Thank you. It’s beautiful.” – you said dreamily and his heart tripped over itself, now racing.

Clyde felt a thumb stroking along his cheek and, god, it had been so long. So, so long since a woman touched him like that, tenderly, and made his blood hot, and ran around in his thoughts constantly. He felt himself teetering, wanting to lean in, close that distance. But Jesus, what the fuck was he thinking? There was no way…

“I can see yer very…free with yerself, but I don’t know if you should stand so close t’me here.” – he looked around the entrance to the house, wondering if Moody had a security system recording all of this mess right now. He half hoped he did.

“Oh. Right.” – you rolled your eyes, snorting. – “Don’t wanna piss oof the big man, huh?” – you gave his cheek a light pat before releasing him.

And just like that, the anger was back again. – “Course not.” – he snapped. – “And regardin’ Moody, ya don’t need t’lie for me. I’ll gladly tell him the truth.” – he was about to add about yesterday and not showing up when he saw something hard growing in your eyes.

“And what truth is that? That he’s an oaf? Or that you resent him?” – you offered, moving too quickly to let him deny it. - “Or that you don’t know if you wanna kill me or fuck me?”

Clyde’s jaw ticked, full lips pouty and trembling as he considered for a few moments. Why deny any of it? – “All three, if necessary.”

Face growing hot, you took a steadying breath. –“Well, the matter is settled, so it’s _not_ necessary.”

*

The next day was grueling. If you were not in meetings or on calls, you were meeting clients and showing them around, it was absolute bullshit and a nightmare. You were already tired for the day and you hadn’t even left the house yet. Moody went ahead of you, carrying a heavy messenger bag and a stack of folders to the trunk.

“Ya ready for another long one, Clyde?” – Moody smiled as he deposited the first half of your things, striding back to get the rest.

“Yes, sir.” – Clyde nodded, following him with his eyes back up the stairs where his two sniveling boys clung on to you, still in their pajamas, not ready for you to leave. He watched as you stroked their hair and assured the nanny would let them play and basically do whatever they wanted, but they still reached out and wouldn’t settle till you held them and gave them copious kisses and cuddles. Clyde was trying to reconcile the selfish brat he had you painted as in his head with this loving creature, lost in thought long enough for Moody to come back down and close the trunk when he was done loading your stuff in. – “Take care o’my girl, man.” – he clapped him happily on the shoulder one time and jogged up the stairs to take his boys. Clyde thought he could make out something about them missing their mom and felt bile sting in his gut when you rubbed up and down his arm in support and, to his horror, leaned in. His temper dissipated instantly when he saw you were only kissing on the boys again before you turned and started making your way down.

“Would you consider driving us off a bridge?” – you asked before getting in the car.

“Ain’t no bridges along the way.” – Clyde deadpanned and you snorted.

“Well, shoot. Guess I’ll have to live.” – you sighed and Clyde closed the door, trying not to roll his eyes. Guess work was simply beneath the princess of the universe.

*

Clyde mostly sat and read while he waited and for once pondered how this job was not entirely bad.

Each meeting you came out of seemed to leave you more flattened, eyes empty and tired, face long. Well, he steeled himself against any sympathy, first time’s always the hardest, you’d get used to actually doing something in your life eventually.

He saw you at the entrance to the building, talking to one of the men you’d had a meeting with. It didn’t look like you were having a great time anyway, but when your phone rang, you shared a look and he left. Clyde watched as you paced in circles and meandered, chewing a nail, rubbing your eyes, biting your lip, mostly quiet and seeming to get bad news or reprimands. When you hung up, the phone rested in your hand for a several long moments before you put it away and covered your face.

Out of some strange courtesy, he looked away, only glancing up a few times to check if you were still there or approaching, feeling like he was invading on some vulnerable private moment, though he would have bet anything you didn’t know and wouldn’t care if he were watching.

When you eventually came back, your eyes seemed slightly red and there was something heavy in the air around you. Clyde sat and waited, eyes fixed on you in the mirror until you looked up. – “Let’s get lunch. Somewhere decent, please.” – you asked and he nodded, although he would have gladly asked what _decent_ was supposed to mean.

You didn’t talk on the drive there. You were half grateful that you didn’t have to put on some brave face as thoughts of how much your father despised you and probably wished you didn’t exist whirled in your head with your conversation still ringing in your ears, but your tried and true method of distracting yourself with jokes, or things or different kinds of highs nagged at you, wanting to bury the awful feeling in your heart. 

When you came in, Clyde pulled out a chair for you as you set your crutches to the side. Purely out of convenience, he told himself, not because he sympathized. Not because he’d get a lungful of that perfume that already had the effect of making his heart thud against his ribcage and head swim, smelling beautiful and despicable all at once. Not because you’d follow him with your eyes as he sat in his own chair and make some silly comment.

“Aw, don’t you know how to make a gal feel special?”

“I do what I can.” – Clyde mumbled, reaching for a menu immediately rather than look at you.

“Yeah, for sure. I mean, my cup runneth over. You grunted at me twice today, almost made eye contact once, I almost feel like, what’s the word, a person. It’s nearly too much.” – you fired back, nose also buried in a menu.

Clyde’s eyes could have burned a hole in his. The fuck did you want from him? – “What do ya want from me?” – he voiced the thought and glared.

“I want lunch.” – you tried to put on a serene smile, happy that you provoked him, but your voice still betrayed all the heaviness you were feeling.

“Good, that’ll keep ya quiet at least.” – Clyde said and put the menu down a bit more forcefully than he intended.

There was something so virile about him when he was angry, eyes bright and flashing, muscles rippling, his size never as commanding as when his temper flared. You promised yourself you would have this mountain man by the end of the day.

*

You ate in silence and you resisted the really cliché thing of licking fingers or spoons suggestively. Instead, the rare few times you caught his eyes on you, you’d bug your eyes out at him as if to ask why he was looking at you and he’d get dark and cute as hell, with his grumpy face and pouty lips.

You sent him out to get some papers you didn’t need and when he tried to pay later as you were leaving, you informed you’d taken care of it, to his annoyance.

“Ya didn’t need t’do that.” – he admonished, irked that you tricked him and his gentlemanly instincts were foiled, and irrationally, feeling offended, like you were saying he couldn’t even afford to buy you lunch, no matter how close to the truth that might have been.

“What’s up, big guy? You wanna wine and dine me? Show me a good time?” – you batted your lashes. – “Then ask me out on a date. Or if you wanna show me a _really_ good time, come join me in the backseat.”

Clyde just stood, glaring and fuming, five different urges battling it out inside him, all involving grabbing you and doing something. You could clearly sense it, so you stood closer and tilted your head in a challenge, waiting for him to do something or back down.

“Don’t bite off more than ya can chew, doncha have enough with failin’ at yer job?” – Clyde asked, pushing himself to say it before some unwanted compassion made him reconsider. He already saw the sting of his words in your eyes, the tears having flown once today were quick to rise again. – “Why doncha make yer elegant way to the car? Ya don’t wanna be late.” – he stepped aside to let you through, closing his eyes and taking a deep steadying breath when your back was turned, cheeks burning with the shame of what he just said.

*

After the last disaster of a meeting, you were exhausted, but oddly satisfied, knowing at least you had no more of this torture to deal with. It was already getting dark and you just wanted dinner, a long bath and dreamless sleep.

“Home?” – Clyde asked when you were inside.

“I’m guessing off a bridge is still not an option?”

“Not t’night.” – he responded, the wear of the day evident on him too.

“You should take me dancing.” – you sighed, thinking out loud and Clyde breathed a laugh out of his nose. – “What? It’s gotta be more fun than reading all day in a car. How about tomorrow we ditch my appointment and go dancing?” – you offered, perfectly willing to go through with it if he so much as blinked in agreement.

“With that leg?” – Clyde asked, not giving a real answer.

You shrugged, looking down on your splint, wondering if you could endure a night out. – “I could manage. Some bump and grind. Horizontal tango. You might learn a thing or two.” – you teased, voice exaggeratedly sultry, good knee pushing back on his seat to get his attention.

“That’s enough o’that.” – Clyde growled in response, the little bit of levity he had before gone.

“Is it? I was hoping you were more fun than that.” – you said with genuine disappointment, thumbnail between your teeth.

“This isn’t about fun.” – he reminded, yourself and him.

“Well, it certainly isn’t with that attitude. Or maybe you can’t get it up unless we’re line dancing and distantly related?” 

The car screeched to a halt, making you jerk forward uncomfortably. Clyde got out and slammed the door so hard the whole car shook. You sat inside, watching him fume and look around like he wanted to uproot trees and break them over his knee. He walked back and forth a few times, fist clenching and chest rising and falling furiously. Finally, you got out too, leaving your crutches inside, and leaned against the open door for support, looking at him silently for a while.

“Was it something I said, big guy?” – you asked in an overly sweet tone and from the way he strode over, you honestly contemplated if he would punch you or choke you out, already imagining the pain.

All the teasing and fake flirting was way too upsetting for Clyde. He couldn’t respond in kind since he working, nor could he tell you fuck off with that since it would also cross lines, so it all just accumulated in him, making his brain melt and dick swell, without an outlet for any of it.

He came close, boxing you in between the door and his flesh hand clenched on the hood and steadied himself, eyes shut, before opening to glare at you. – “I aint stupid, I know you don’t mean anythin’ by any o’this really. But it makes me uncomfortable that yer with Moody and yer playin’ and teasin’ with me. It ain’t my fuckin’ job t’be a toy for ya.” – he said the last part in a menacing tone, face threateningly close.

Since there was no friendly teasing or sexy tension, just the very real tension of an enraged man seeming to look for excuses to pummel you, you pushed his chest away, hard, getting angry yourself. – “Don’t fucking talk to me in that tone!” – you demanded, barely managing to push him an inch off. – “And shut up about Moody already, I’m not with him.”

Clyde stepped closer, his chest crowding you, making your back and shoulders press against the car. – “Alright, let’s even say that’s true. The fuck ya want from me?” – he asked, pushing into you when you tried to get out of the corner he had you in. – “Cat got ya tongue? I’m right here, what do ya want?” – he repeated when you didn’t come up with an answer and he was finally close enough, so much of him brushing up against you that you could finally feel him, testing the seams of that uniform, the hot length of him curving between you. It was easy to close the distance between you, he was right there, ready at a moment’s notice to grip you hard and close, grinding into you mindlessly, kissing rough and filthy, taking what he wanted, dominating, as you struggled to stay upright, clinging to his shirt for support, falling apart from the sheer power of him.

When he pulled away to fill his burning lungs with air, he found his vision narrowing, common sense disappearing and he couldn’t stop what he started.

But when you tried to lay your hands around his neck and kiss him again, he felt a panic rise in him, afraid that if he let you touch his body in the same gentle way you’d managed to touch his heart once or twice before, he’d be lost. So before he knew it, his hand was wrapped around your throat, squeezing and pushing back till you had trouble sucking in breaths.

“So I take it yer lookin’ t’get fucked?” – he asked, telling himself not to break down; he could either have this or nothing at all.

Oh, it’s gonna be one of those, you realized, bracing yourself for a rough ride. –“Okay, sure.” – you narrowed your eyes at him, deciding to push off any sentimentality.

While you contemplated how he struck you as a far more respectful and loving person than this fuck you all dirty by the side of the road guy, Clyde got busy yanking your shirt open, paw hand grabbing at the bra strap and pulling down too just to get your tits out.

He left one sloppy, greedy kiss on your neck, biting and sucking, before he remembered not to make this long, not to make it all about you. Instead, he went against every instinct in his body that he spent years developing and went right for what he wanted, to hell with whether you thought he was nice or respectful, latching onto a breast, sucking a nipple in, licking and chasing the stiff peak as he played with in his mouth, grunting at the softness of your chest, biting at the cloud soft flesh, cock pounding with need in this mess of spit, and teeth, and flesh, and tongue. He felt you look around frantically when some sense returned to you, not wanting to get caught with your shirt ripped open, tits out and a man grinding on your leg.

“Ugh, fuck.” – he grunted, standing back up again, letting you find your feet too. – “Get in the car, take off yer panties, fast.” – he ordered and you decided not to fight with him, thought you didn’t appreciate the tone, struggling to slide far enough up the seat go give him room as well.

Clyde barely paid any attention, fighting with the zipper and opening the pants just enough to take himself out. Deep sounds of pleasure issued from his chest and throat as he palmed himself shamelessly, pulling the skin from the tip, working down his length, fondling his balls, tight and heavy.

With one knee between yours, he ducked inside and pushed on your good knee to spread you open some more, swallowing hard as he looked at what he would get to possess for a while, cock jumping at the thought. With no preamble, he took himself in his hand again, prodding at your folds till he found the hole and pushed the head in, a shudder rippling through him making him grip the seat for support. He hadn’t been with a woman in too long, and now that he was suddenly inside one, his body went haywire, buttocks clenching, wanting to push, thighs shaking, chest constricting.

To stop himself getting to worked up and cumming all over himself like an overstimulated teen, he pushed further in, finding he had not too much trouble. You were tight, squeezing him so fucking hard his breathing stopped as he went further, but he slid in, your walls hot and slippery. – “When the fuck did ya get so wet, hm?” – he asked, pulling out as soon as he was in to the hilt, not waiting for you to relax. You were still squeezing your eyes shut, trying not to whimper at the colossal size of him splitting you open so hard and fast, so no reply came, much to Clyde’s satisfaction. – “Or have you been like this all day for me?”

He immediately set a punishing pace, as soon as he could find enough balance and a rhythm, and somewhere in the back of his mind he noted that you were right there with him, finding the right angle with your good leg over his hip, moving up and down his strokes to make sure he hit all the spots you wanted him to inside you, gushing around him as you clawed at his neck and back. He drove hard into you, pulling out almost all the way out and slamming back in as far he could go, nasty sounds, wet, squelching, slapping, reverberating in the small space around you. After a few of those, he finally heard you yelp and wince, tossing your head side to side, but not letting your lips tell him to stop or go slower. – “Is it a bit too rough?” – he asked, another yelp coming as he slammed in particularly hard. – “Shut up, y’can take it, fuck. Yer gonna take it. Just like this.” – he pushed himself up, leaning more on his knee and using his tree trunk thighs to propel him, fucking as hard he could into you while you gripped desperately at the seat under and over you. For a moment, it seemed to Clyde like he was really hurting you, though he still felt your pussy flutter and clench around him, coating him again and again. Bitterly, he thought of the boyfriends you mentioned casually, that snowboarder you were always making remarks about, wondering if anyone fucked you like this. If they were as big and rough as him? If they threw you over a hood or in the backseat if you mouthed off? Were you putting on a show for him now, pretending that this was something new to you, when in fact you played this game with god knows how many people?

You heard his grunts get more rumbly and come faster and faster, correctly assuming he was getting close. When he let out a frantic breath and leaned on his arm again, spine curling and hips starting to sputter and go off erratically, you snaked an arm between you, working yourself with your fingers as his thick cock slid in and out between them. He made no reaction to that, too intent on himself and his orgasm. You knew he had no hand to spare and he’d given no indication in this whole encounter that he would have wanted to make sure you came first, or at all, so you decided to take care of yourself. Even as he was taking you closer to your own release, you felt like his roughness had drilled a hole into your body, that would be left aching and gaping all night when he was done, so you were damned if you were not gonna at least cum with him.

You raced to dig your fingers in, press and roll, fast and hard, his breathing shallow and fast, muscles rippling all over, like he was going to fall to pieces any second now. Your back arched under him, waves ripping and crashing through you as he sloppily fucked his way to his own orgasm all through it, suddenly yanking himself out, leaving you predictably gaping and pulsing around nothing as he spurted his liquid all over your thigh and the seat and himself, still going while you felt it get colder and slide down your skin to pool under you.

His grip on the seat was shaky and he almost fell limply over you, only barely catching himself with his elbow by your side, the prosthetic digging into him uncomfortably at this angle and with all this weight on him.

Out of habit and because, fuck it, you wanted to, you pushed his damp hair from his face, lifting your head to kiss at his cheek, working your way to his lips, but pulled it away, rather petulantly.

He leaned back on his knee, starting to cramp up, and shoved himself back into his pants, zipping up as well as he could. You followed, just closing the two sides of your shirt with one hand, again leaning closer, touching the tip of your nose to his and feeling your lips brush together when he again stopped himself, turning his face to look out the window, scowling and deep in some angry thoughts.

“For someone who just had sex, you’re very grumpy.” – you notified him, putting your bra back on and buttoning up, abandoning the idea of post-coital tenderness for now.

Clyde’s pleasure of finally sleeping with a woman again and winning a personal battle, of not giving you the kind treatment a part of him felt like you didn’t deserve, was immediately ruined by your gentleness towards him and he had to wonder if he had been unfair. Would he regret not treating you better in the future? Was there more to you than he allowed himself to see? Did he ruin something that could have been better than he expected?

There was no time to ponder this and he had to play his role until the end. – “Did ya cum?” – he asked emotionlessly, like he was taking a census.

“Yeah.” – you answered, knowing he felt it too and knew very well you did. Though were it not for your own aplomb, you wouldn’t have.

“Alright then.” – he exhaled like he had completed some task, a favor to you, and lumbered out of the backseat, allowing you to pull the rest of your clothes back up as he sat back behind the wheel and drove you wordlessly home.

*


End file.
